


Inheritance

by pinesap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesap/pseuds/pinesap
Summary: “You know, we had another name for you.”





	Inheritance

**Author's Note:**

> A short investigation into Drea.

Sit straight. Close your knees. Head up, chin slightly down, deferential. Hands lay lightly stacked, right on top of left. Eyes glazed, on Father, trying not to drool from the tedium.

He had a whiskey clasped in his hands, long white fingers wrapped around the sides of the glass. The library, a privilege rarely afforded to any women, even the women of the manor; smelled like parchment, embers, and the faintest trace of magic, like hot, smelted iron taking its shape. There were shelves and shelves and shelves full of more books than Drea could count. More than Drea would ever be allowed to read, in all likelihood. Father had dark circles under his eyes. The noise of rowdy Death Eaters filtered up through the floors. Whenever there was a loud crash Father would flinch. Drea thought she would take more enjoyment in his distress if she didn’t know it involved the destruction of the manor (her manor).

“-and Theodore Nott’s incompetence will bring the whole operation down around its knees soon.” Drea tried to still the twitch she made when she heard her classmate's name. The slight tilt of Father’s head told Drea he noticed.

“The number of times Theodore has nearly ruined our assignments in potions clearly indicates that fact. Never mind the awful wand work he displays in transfiguration.” Drea spoke slowly, letting her lips and tongue form the words with care. She had learned from Father’s example that speaking words slowly forces people to listen to you. It worked better for him. Men always interrupt Drea, no matter her overwhelming proficiency or depth of knowledge.

Lucius eyed her. “You partner with Nott in potions?” 

“When my choice was between Nott and Granger, I made the best choice possible.” Lucius sneered, a soft pull of muscles in his face that resulted in a sharpness around his mouth. Drea couldn’t help but show teeth when she tried to imitate him. Very Unladylike, she was told, Not Proper At All. She practiced in the mirror sometimes to try to get it right. “No one else performs at my level.”

“If Nott refuses to complete the task in front of him, the Dark Lord will be furious. It is critical the boy does his job.” Drea could hear Father struggling to speak the last words through a clenched jaw. He was getting more transparent, or perhaps drunker. Maybe Drea could now see through him as she grew older, or maybe the miserable position of her family made it exaggerated. 

Life was hell, she thought. 

Drea hummed in assent and went back to gazing blankly at her father. He was shooting her a look, one she had seen many times before. The “if only you were my son,” face. She hoped that she would be spared the rant tonight.

“You know, we had another name for you.” Drea pushed her tongue strongly against the roof of her mouth. He would notice if she clenched her teeth. She arranged her face into something that looked like interest. She breathed, tried to count them. “In another life, you would have been named Draco. You would be the one to complete this task, and you would have brought us victory.” Father’s voice stayed at the same volume, but the intensity increased at the end.

Breath in. Breath out. Five. Breath in. Breath out. Six. Breath in. Breath out. Seven. 

Father was looking at her intently, silently. She wasn’t sure he wanted a response. “Yes, things would have been very different,” she spoke blandly. He turned away.

“Make sure to close the door on your way out.” She stood, smoothing out her clothing, and crossed the room. “Of course, Father. Good evening.” She opened the door, the sounds of chaos screams of joy and pain both flooding in. She crossed the threshold, pulling the doors closed behind her until she felt the latch catch. She walked softly to her room, praying to dead gods that no one intercepts her on the way there. 

The feeling of relief that washed over her when she closed and warded her door behind her nearly made her cry. Drea tried to let it happen, and was caught feeling relieved and deeply pained when she couldn't manage a single tear. She fell asleep while counting backward, a habit of hers, and had the pleasure of five dreamless, uninterrupted hours.

At breakfast the next day (now taken in her mother’s suite to avoid the Death Eaters downstairs), Drea and her mother take tea and some fruit. Drea was hungry, always hungry, but she knew there are appearances to be maintained and that hunger was preferable in the long term. Drea was disciplined if nothing else. Nothing else matters, to hear her mother tell it. She was lucky to be born with the face she has, but only rigor can get her the rest. Drea thinks on how her mother says it, “Di-sci-plin,” with the accent on the wrong word, when her father walks in. Drea and Narcissa looked up. Lucius had not been one to enter his wife’s quarters, except for the most predictable, nocturnal reasons. Drea noted absently that his hands are shaking. 

Time slowed down, a bit, for her. After the fact, Drea wonders if she imagined the slowing, her brain acting like a pensive for just this moment in time. She can so clearly see the details - his hands, how her mother placed her napkin on the table, but left her hand there, pressing into the table. Her aunt, slipping in behind her father, grinning at her. The few family portraits turned away, silent as always but the look in their eyes became furtive. 

“Drea,” he began, clearing his throat, refusing to look at his wife or daughter, “the Dark Lord has a task for you.”


End file.
